The Value of a Dream
by Natta
Summary: Beka and Dylan talk after Point of the Spear.


He found her on the Observation Deck, the lights significantly dimmed, and the room completely empty, but for her, sitting in the far corner, gazing out at the stars with a void expression on her face. As he walked over to her, she recognised his presence, but didn't seem to particularly react. He sat down next to her and looked with her, attempting to feel what she was feeling. He hadn't known the dead pilot, hadn't even spoken to him. He had lost crew though, and he knew how much it hurt…

"It wasn't your fault," he said quietly, his gaze still fixed at the stars ahead. She didn't reply, but he heard a faint sigh, or a sob, he wasn't sure which one. "There was nothing you could have done."

"Oh, wasn't there?" Her voice came eventually, sounding oddly cracked, as if she'd meant it sarcastically, but broken down into sobbing.

"Beka, you did great today. You piloted just as wonderfully as I know you can. You can't take responsibility for everyone else, for their mistakes."

"I suppose not," she replied dryly. She drew in breath as if wanting to say something else, but seemed to change her mind, and slowly let it out again.

"He was probably nervous, Beka, he doesn't have your level of skill, the same level of confidence…"

"I was terrified," she cut him off, making him snap his head around, staring at her.

"You were _what_?" She looked up at him with a face that reminded him of a cornered kitten, before looking away again, swallowing hard.

"I was terrified going out there. Terrified I was going to fail, make a mistake. Just like I'm terrified every time this kind of thing happens, when my life and others' depend on my ability to…" Her voice faded, and he could vaguely see a tear running down her cheek, her lips pursed together, furiously attempting to stop herself from crying.

"Beka, you're…you're…" He searched for appropriate words and came up with the obvious ones. "The best pilot there is. You…"

"How do you know? Have you personally studied _every single pilot_ there is? Set up a competition, then erased it from my memory?" He was surprised at this sudden outburst. _She_ was the one who always said… "No, that's right…" Her voice became lower, somehow despaired. "You don't know."

The light from the viewscreen fell on her face, reflecting in the tears, untouched, slowly descending downwards, as the light caught her cheeks. Rosy and puffed up from crying, with the flickering light playing games on him, she almost reminded him of a child, and he immediately felt helpless.

"Beka," he tried again. "I _do_ know. Well, perhaps not in a strictly _literal_ manner but…" He paused, watching the ever so slight reaction on her face, anticipatory, waiting. "I know I admire you," he admitted.

"What…" Her voice broke, and she collected herself before starting again. "What makes you believe I'm _the best_?" He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. She turned her face to him, her eyes looking up at him, almost pleading, before giving up, looking away. "Because I say so," she answered her own question. "Because I told you so, so many times. Eventually you believe me. Because of the lengths I go to, ensuring that I _never_ fail."

"And you don't believe it?" It was a rhetorical question. There was only one answer. She sighed.

"What would you do if I said 'no'?" She laughed, but it turned more into a sob, and she drew a few more sharp breaths to ensure it stopped. "What if it wasn't true?"

"Beka," he tried, knowing it was futile, "don't say that. Please, Beka…don't."

"Because then I'll have failed you," she whispered. She stood up, hugging herself, and started walking back and forth. She looked more fragile than he remembered, her hair hanging in front of her face, occasionally caught by the light, and her boots making soft clanging noises every time they hit the floor, so soft he wouldn't have heard unless he was listening. "I can't fail, because then, what am I?" She paused, but he didn't answer. "Did Harper tell you how he used to nag me to sign up for a competition? He kept telling me about the rush of beating your competitors, the feeling of winning…I just told him we were too busy, that I wasn't interested in it." She hid her face in her hands, breathing in slowly. "It wasn't true."

"What was the truth?" he whispered, knowing the answer even as he asked.

"I was so terrified of losing," she answered, so quietly he almost didn't hear her. "Because if I lost, what then am I?"

"Beka…this isn't about him anymore, is it?" She looked at him, the ray of light formed next to her accentuated the shadow she seemed almost shrouded in, an ironic metaphor of how she seemed to feel.

"It's somehow as if flying, it's all I've become. My dad used to tell me – and Sid, and Rafe, and…others too, that I'd become the best pilot known one day." A ghost of a smile hinted across her face, before she turned around, facing away from him. A strand of hair fell into the light, glistening golden, as if struck by a ray of sunset. "And if I'm not that, then what am I?"

"Beka," he cut her off, almost afraid of what she was saying, wishing she'd be cocky, arrogant, even insult him if she had to…just not this. Anything but this. "You're upset. You're questioning yourself, because he died. It happens, Beka. I know, don't you think _I_ know?" She shook her head slowly, almost as if she hadn't taken his words in.

"This has nothing to do with him," she said, in an almost monotone voice. "It's nothing new, Dylan, it's…it's old. Older than I can remember. I've just never dared…"

"So talk to me," he said, wishing she would stop, but realising asking her this would be a bad idea. "Tell me what you're thinking." Suddenly, she spun around, her tear-stained face struck by the light, and her eyes wide.

"What am I thinking?" Her voice was no longer quiet, but louder, upset. "I'm thinking…why do I have to worry about being the best? Why am I so terrified every time we meet another pilot, so terrified they'll be better than me? When we went…when I tried to take you to Tarn Vedra…"

"Beka…"

"I couldn't stand to fail. Do you understand…can you _comprehend_ how much I needed to succeed, for me to take the flash? It went beyond just wanting to go somewhere…because if I had failed, I would have had to…doubt the whole _reason_ I'm even alive! That's why I never want to compete. Everytime I watch another pilot I need to compare us, if only silently, and I'm so _terrified_…" She took a deep breath, and he could tell she was crying again.

"You don't have to be the best, Beka," he said quietly. "No one requires you to."

"Don't they? You know…we mock Nietzscheans because they judge each other on genetic material. The intelligent mock those that judge on beauty. But none of us are any different, are we, really? Intelligence, beauty, talent, skill, knowledge…we all _judge_ and we all get _judged_! We say you should see beyond the surface, what's on the inside of a person rather than the outside, but _why_? Why, Dylan? It's just a _different way_ of being judgmental. A person is not worth more because they're clever, or talented, or _are_ they?" She slumped down next to a large flower-pot, leaning her back against it and closing her eyes, out of the light. "But if you're not, nobody wants you."

"That's not true, Beka," he whispered, struck by her words, and unsure whether what he was telling her was true.

"It is," she whispered. "We live in a universe where 'average' is an insult, where a mother will be shunned for encouraging her daughter to be a beauty queen, and praised if it's a mathematician. Average is the new complete failure, great is the new sub-standard, and the only thing good enough is to be _the best_. The smartest. It seems everyone is above average intelligence these days, doesn't it Dylan? But it isn't true…it's simply that those that aren't pretend to be, as hard as they can, or just stay quiet."

"We're not all like that," he told her. "We don't all judge…" She snorted.

"So you're saying if the crew that rescued you hadn't had a brilliant engineer and pilot, along with a super-muscled soldier, they would still be in the position we are today? If they were sub-standard, or worse…_average_. If Sarah hadn't been a brilliant scientist, and a beauty at that, if she'd been an overweight shelf-stacker with mousy hair, that you'd have fallen in love with her at first sight?" Silently, he observed her as she waited for his reply. "I know," she said quietly. "You wouldn't."

"Beka, driving yourself to drugs simply to meet approval…that's…"

"Insanity," she broke him off. Leaning her head forward to look at him, her face fell into the light, and he could see the half-dried tears on her cheeks as she bit her lip. "I know. But Dylan…if I don't have that…" She paused, blinking a couple of times before asking; "What do I have left?" 


End file.
